


Confronting Mortality

by theHunter_and_theNinja



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Geralt is much older than in the TV version, Happy Ending, M/M, talk of death but nobody actually dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theHunter_and_theNinja/pseuds/theHunter_and_theNinja
Summary: Jaskier meets one of Geralt’s old traveling companions and becomes upset believing the witcher will abandon him on the side of the road once he becomes too old to keep up.
Relationships: Brief Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/OFC - past, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 42





	Confronting Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> *inspired by scene in Doctor Who episode “School Reunion”  
> *Geralt is much older than 100 years. He’s 214 in this fic

Jaskier groaned in relief as he sat down in a chair at the local tavern of whatever town Geralt had dragged him to this time. Geralt had gotten a contract on a nest of arachnomorphs that were killing hunters in the nearby woods and forbade him from tagging along. Geralt claimed they were too dangerous for him to be allowed anywhere near the battle. It’s been twenty years since he started traveling with Geralt and still the witcher wouldn’t let him tag along on all his hunts.

“But how will I immortalize your fight in song if I can’t even see the creatures?” he’d complained for the umpteenth time.

“Think giant black spiders and you’ve got the picture,” Geralt had grumbled on his way out the door, “They’re huge and wicked fast. You’d be dead before I even had a chance to notice you were in danger.”

He’d huffed indignantly at the closed door, but obeyed the witcher and didn’t follow. Instead, he unpacked his lute and made his way to the front of the room. He started off by playing some of the more well known pieces before transitioning into his white wolf catalogue.

His performance was going exactly how he’d anticipated it going with his trusty _Toss a Coin_ song getting the orens flowing from his increasingly drunk audience, except for the white haired man staring daggers at him from the back of the room. His clothing was dirty and ragged while his gaze was harsh and cold. Jaskier swallowed hard and hoped that the man didn’t hate witchers enough to come after him for singing their praise. He’s had run ins with more than one disgruntled witcher haters in his life and this time Geralt wasn’t here to defend him.

He ended his set with the much slower _Elsa’s Song_ , leaving the patrons leaning entranced against their tables. It wasn’t a hugely popular song, but it made a nice closing piece for his sets. It sounded even better when he sang it with his friend Priscilla at Oxenfurt, but it was still beautiful as a solo.

Jaskier made quick work of packing up his lute and collecting his earnings, wanting to get back to his room at the inn as soon as possible. The strange man was still staring at him from behind his tankard and it was making Jaskier uncomfortable. He was almost out the door when the owner of the tavern approached him.

“That was a wonderful performance, master bard,” the man complimented him loudly, “Would you care for something to eat or drink? On the house, of course.”

Jaskier smiled at the man, “That’s very generous of you, but I am very tired and would like to retire to my room for the night.”

“I understand,” he replied, “but feel free to stop by in the morning with your witcher friend. We’ll make sure you’re well fed before you set off on the road again.”

Jaskier thanked the owner before glancing back over at the stranger’s table only to see he wasn’t there anymore. Jaskier felt dread settle into his stomach now that he didn’t know where the stranger was. His hand made its way subconsciously to the dagger on his belt that Geralt insists that he wear at all times. He’d bought it for him after their last runin with bandits on the road.

He tightened his grip on his lute and left the tavern. He was halfway to the inn when he heard a man call out behind him, causing him to jump and draw his knife. Jaskier could just barely make out the shape of a man hiding in the shadows of a nearby building.

“You really think the witcher will keep you?” the voice asked, tone dark and bitter.

“What do you want?” Jaskier called out, trying to hide how scared he was by dropping into the defensive pose Geralt had taught him.

“I want to know what you think you’re doing with a witcher,” the man replied, stepping into the light cast by the torches on the side of the road.

As he’d suspected, it was the same man who’d been staring at him in the tavern. His accent was strange, he was definitely not from around here. Toussaint maybe? Jaskier could see that the man was well on in age, his white hair tied back into a small bun. He carried a sword on his hip and was clad in armor that has for sure seen better days. His dark cloak has been patched up many times and his boots looked ready to fall apart.

“Who are you?” Jaskier asked him, pulled the strap of his lute tight against his chest.

“Oh, I’m nobody important,” the man shrugged, “At least your witcher sure didn’t think so when he left to complete a small contract and never came back.”

Jaskier felt some of his fear dissipate, only to be replaced by confusion, “What?”

“You heard me,” the stranger hissed, “I used to travel with Geralt of Rivia, the famous _white wolf_.”

Jaskier couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Geralt had never mentioned traveling with anyone before him ever, not once.

“Geralt’s never mentioned you.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” the man snapped, a bitter edge to his words, “He doesn’t like to remember all the people he’s abandoned. Just like he’ll never mention you to whoever comes next.”

“I don’t understand...” he started, but the man cut him off.

“No, I don’t suppose you would.”

Jaskier lowered his knife a little as he listened to the man speak.

“When I was younger, I used to travel with Geralt across the continent. Back then I was a young knight, tired of serving the Duchess of Toussaint and dreaming of adventure. Geralt allowed me to accompany him on his travels with the understanding that I must earn my keep. I went with him on many hunts, helping him slay fiends, werewolves, arachas, and so many more terrifying monsters.

But there was one monster I could not defeat, one that will eventually claim you as well. The constant march of time and the inevitable deterioration of our mortal bodies. The day he decided I’d slowed too much to accompany him on his hunts, he left without so much as a goodbye.”

Jaskier didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. His own fears of Geralt becoming bored with him and leaving springing into the forefront of his mind.

“Geralt wouldn’t do that to me,” Jaskier shot back, but he could hear the tremble in his own voice.

The man shook his head sadly, chuckling darkly, “You are naive if you truly believe that. Once you’ve ceased to be of use to him he will leave. I wasn’t the first and you won’t be the last. He’ll just keep on moving, paying no attention to the people he leaves behind. People who cared for him, the only ones who never feared him.”

The man stepped closer, getting in his face. Jaskier took a few steps back and raised his knife again.

“I used to think Geralt was my friend,” the man continued, anger clear in his face, “I would’ve died for him in any one of our many battles, but I know now the only reason he kept me around was for my fighting prowess. I made his life a little easier for a time, but the second that began to fade, he decided he didn’t need me anymore.”

Jaskier shook his head in defiance, breathing hard.

“You’re a bard,” the man sneered, leaning back a bit, “so I can see him keeping you for a bit longer than he did me, but do not believe it won’t ever happen. Someday you will be too old to keep up with him and he will leave. No matter how many songs you write or how many times you let him fuck you--don’t deny it, I’ve heard your songs--he will not stay with you forever.”

Jaskier could feel tears pooling in his eyes, “You’re wrong,” he shouted angrily, clenching the knife tight in his fist.

“Really?” he shouted, his lip curling back into a snarl, “Ask him about me and those who came before us. Ask him why he abandoned Sir Allard de Salmaar at an inn in Lindenvale thirty years ago. Ask him what he plans to do with you once you’re too old to keep traveling.”

Jaskier felt rooted to the ground as he watched the man turn and leave, disappearing into the shadows. Once he was sure the man was gone, he felt the weight of what he’d been told fully settle on him. The knife fell limply by his side and he fought to steady his breathing. It was like someone had just stabbed him in the gut and then told him it was for his own good.

Jaskier entered their room and collapsed onto the bed. Only then did he allow himself to cry. He didn’t want to believe that Geralt would abandon him, but the man had posed a great question. What was Geralt planning on doing once he was too old to keep up? He knew someday he would be too old to walk for miles to watch the witcher defeat monsters, too old to ride a horse nonstop for hours, too old to even be a good bed partner. Someday he will be too old and Geralt will leave.

* * * 

Geralt hefted the head of one of the arachnomorphs over his shoulder, proof for the contract issuer that the problem had been dealt with. No more hunters would be killed in the woods by these creatures at least. He made his way to the alderman’s house, paying no mind to the blood and monster hair still stuck to his armor. He’d worry about it in the morning.

He knocked on the door and was greeted by a woman who immediately wrinkled her nose in disgust at how dirty he was.

“The witcher’s here,” he called out to her husband, glaring at him as he entered her house.

The alderman appeared from around the corner fast enough, “I’m assuming that disgusting thing you’re holding is proof that the monster is dead?”

 _“Monsters,”_ Geralt corrected him, “And yes, they’re all dead.”

“Good,” he said nodding his head and tossing Geralt his coin, “We lost too many good hunters to the beasts.”

Having no desire to stay any longer, Geralt left the alderman’s house to dispose of the head on the outskirts of the town. He then turned his steps in the direction of the inn hoping Jaskier had remembered to order a bath for when he returned. The more time he spent with Jaskier the more conscious of his appearance he was becoming. Before he met Jaskier he probably would’ve already found a place to camp and gone to sleep, but he knew his companion valued the finer things in life and liked sleeping in an actual bed as often as he could. Besides, it was much more comfortable having sex in a real bed than on a then bedroll in the middle of the forest.

He entered the inn and made his way up to the counter to speak with the innkeeper.

“Ah witcher,” the man greeted him, “your companion said you’d probably need a bath when you returned. I’ll have the girls draw one immediately.”

“Thanks,” he grunted before making his way upstairs.

As he made his way up the stairs, his hearing began picking up on a rather unexpected sound: Jaskier crying. He felt his heart leap into his throat out of worry for his partner and he picked up his pace taking the stairs two at a time. He was only a few feet away from the door when he heard the crying stop. He opened the door and was greeted with the sight of Jaskier laying in bed, eyes red from crying.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said before the door was even closed behind him, “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” he waved him off, getting out of the bed and walking over.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he pressed gently, but Jaskier just shrugged.

“Really, nothing happened. Someone just didn’t like my songs and threw their empty mug at me. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I don’t even really know why it upset me so much.”

Geralt threw him a skeptical glare, not really buying his story. Jaskier’s normal scent of sandalwood and springtime was soured by something, something he wasn’t used to smelling on the bard, sadness. Not the kind of sadness that comes from listening to a sad ballad or story, but a deep, thick despair that clings to a person’s very soul. His bard is deeply troubled by something, but Geralt doesn’t know what.

A knock on the door ended their silent standoff over Jaskier’s current state. Geralt opened the door and let the women inside to fill the bath. It took them a few trips before the water had reached the appropriate depth and they left the room for good. The tension between them was still there, but got pushed to the side again as Jaskier helped him remove his armor. They didn’t speak another word to each other until after Geralt was sitting in the bath, scrubbing the dried blood off his skin.

“Thank you for having the innkeeper draw a bath for me,” he said to break the heavy silence.

“Of course,” Jaskier replied quietly, doing his best to get all the dirt and grime out of his white hair.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

Jaskier’s hands stopped for a moment before continuing.

“I told you it’s nothing to worry about,” Jaskier snapped.

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at his tone. It was almost like Jaskier was angry with him because normally Jaskier loved to rant about whatever happened to be bothering him at any given moment.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, fearing that the bard’s answer would be yes.

He heard Jaskier sigh behind him, “Not yet.”

Now Geralt was just plain confused. How could Jaskier be upset with him about something he hasn’t done yet?

“What do you mean? How can you be upset about something I haven’t even done?”

Jaskier didn’t reply, he just ran a hand over his face and threw the cup he’d been using to wash Geralt’s hair into the bath before leaving the room. Geralt watched him go in shock and winced when the door slammed shut behind him. Jaskier had never done that before. He was usually so open to talking about what was bothering him when asked, but at least now Geralt knew whatever was bothering his partner was much worse than a simple rude comment from an audience member.

He finished bathing and tied a towel around his waist before exiting the room. Jaskier was once again laying on the bed, but this time his back was to Geralt. He sighed and moved to pull on a pair of pants, not wanting to have what was probably going to be a long and difficult conversation nude.

“Jaskier,” Geralt spoke softly as he walked towards their bed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he heard the bard mumble.

Geralt sat down on the bed, but didn’t reach out to touch Jaskier like he normally would’ve. He could hear the man’s ragged breath and smell the saltiness of his sorrow.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Geralt admitted in an attempt to coax Jaskier into talking, “And I can’t apologize for it or help fix it unless I know what has you so upset.”

He heard the bard stop breathing and panic began to rise in his chest until the man let out a sob. Geralt was frozen, unsure what to do next as his partner began to cry. He hesitantly reached out a hand and touched his shoulder.

“Jaskier?” he prodded gently, concern settling deep into his chest.

The bard curled away from his touch making Geralt’s heart ache.

Finally, through his cries and gasps for air, Jaskier whispered brokenly, “You’re going to leave me.”

Geralt’s eyes widened in shock as he took in what the bard had said.

“No, Jaskier,” he assured him, reaching out to pull the bard closer to him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jaskier pushed against his arms, trying to get away.

“I met one of your previous companions tonight at the tavern. He told me all about your past partners. So maybe it won’t be today or tomorrow, but you will leave,” he cried, “Just like you left the others!”

Geralt felt his blood run cold in his veins. He’d always feared Jaskier finding out about his previous companions and coming to this conclusion. His relationship with Jaskier is nothing like the ones he had with his past traveling companions. Geralt had long ago decided that no matter what happened, he would never leave his side by choice.

“Someday,” Jaskier gasped, “I will be too old and frail to keep up with you and you’ll abandon me.”

“Never Jaskier,” Geralt replied firmly, trying to get his partner to look at him, “Not you, not ever.”

He laughed, but it was a dry, hollow, horrible sound, “You left Sir Allard whatever the fuck from Toussaint behind and he gave you so much more than me. He was a fighter, what use do you have for me anymore. I’ve already done what I promised.”

Geralt swallowed harshly, “I’m not the best with words, but Jaskier, please. You must try to understand...”

“Try to understand!?” the bard’s eyes snapped open, anger flashing in his eyes, “I understand perfectly.”

Geralt flinched as the bard ripped his arms from his grasp, moving further away from him on the bed.

“I understand you pretend to care until we’re too old and too much trouble for you to keep around,” the bard yelled, “You left Allard behind as soon as his fighting slowed. When will you be done with me? Will it be when I’m too old to warm your bed? Is that all I am to you?”

“No!”

“Then what is this between us?” he hissed, “Certainly you cannot expect me to believe I’m some great exception to a rule you’ve kept your whole life.”

“That’s exactly what you are!” Geralt shouted, only to immediately regret it when he saw Jaskier flinch away from him.

Jaskier glared at him as Geralt continued in a calmer tone, “You are the exception to every rule I’ve ever given myself.”

”Why?”

”Because I love you.”

Jaskier sniffled, “How many?”

“What?”

“How many people have you loved and then abandoned?”

Geralt’s shoulder’s dropped slightly as he closed his eyes and whispered, “None,” knowing Jaskier would not believe him.

Jaskier scoffed in disbelief, “You cannot expect me to believe that. Sir Allard said you’ve had many past companions. Surely you loved at least a few of them.”

“It’s true I’ve traveled with many people over the years, but, other than you, I have only ever loved one of them.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation.

“And I did not abandon her,” Geralt spat, “I would never abandon someone I love.”

“Then what happened?”

Geralt hung his head sadly and whispered, “She died, Jaskier. She got sick and died.”

Jaskier looked down in shame, slowly realizing his anger towards Geralt had been misplaced.

Geralt looked up and out the window as he began to tell a story he’d promised to never speak of again.

“Back when I was still training to be a witcher, I was out on a hunt with Vesimer when we heard a woman, Katherine, calling out for help. We ran to her aid and managed to stop her from being killed by a wyvern. As thanks, she offered for us to come with her and have dinner at her house. We accepted her offer and went with her. After that day, I would visit her whenever I could. She was so kind and hopeful. I wanted to be around her all the time. I was the first to volunteer for every hunt in hopes that I could see her.

When I left Ker Morhen as a fully fledged witcher, her house was the first place I went. I offered for her to come with me and, surprisingly, she agreed. We traveled together for many years and I loved her deeply. She was my first everything. Hell, we were even married, though unofficially so that none of the witchers would find out. They were much less accepting of having connections to people back then.

It wasn’t long, however, until I started to notice her lagging behind on our trips. I could smell the sickness in her long before she started coughing up blood. I took her to every doctor and mage I could find, but all they could do was slow the inevitable. I even searched for a djinn, but I wasn’t able to find one.

I had to watch her wither and die right in front of me while I stayed healthy, strong, and totally useless. It was agony. Watching her decay in front of my eyes made me realize that this was my fate.”

Geralt paused and looked back at Jaskier who was staring at him, tears running down his cheeks.

“What was your fate?” he asked, prompting Geralt to finish the story.

“For everyone I care about to die while I look on, unable to stop it. Imagine watching that happen to someone you...”

“A lot of people have to watch their loved ones die, Geralt. It’s part of life.”

Geralt glared at Jaskier, “They have to watch hundreds of loved ones die all while knowing they’ve still got a couple hundred years left to live? Knowing that they’d do anything to give the dying even just a couple of their many, many years?”

The bard hung his head, “No, I suppose they don’t. We all know our lives are fleeting.”

“My life is not short, it goes on and on, seemingly forever. I’m 214 years old and I’m barely even halfway through the estimated lifespan of a witcher.”

Jaskier sat up and crossed his legs on the bed, “How old were you when Katherine died?”

“I was 47.”

“She died 167 years ago?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot imagine what it must be like to carry that kind of loss around with you for that long,” Jaskier murmured.

“The pain does dull somewhat with time,” Geralt said softly, “but it never fully goes away. I still dream of her sometimes, especially around the anniversary of her death. Some nights we’ll be swimming together in the moonlight while other times I’m trapped holding her while she chokes on her own blood.”

Jaskier moved across the bed to pull his witcher into a tight embrace.

“You are the first person I’ve loved since I lost her,” Geralt revealed, pressing his face against the side of Jaskier’s neck, “Do you have any idea how badly I’m going to break when you die?”

Jaskier was trembling in arms as they embraced each other.

“I’m not leaving you,” Jaskier whispered with determination, pressing his finger against Geralt’s skin just a little bit harder.

Geralt sighed as he pulled away, holding him by the shoulders at arms length, “Jaskier, you can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can’t spend the rest of mine with you. I have to live on. Alone. That’s the curse of the witchers.”

Jaskier choked on a sob as Geralt pulled him back into his arms. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s tears against his skin and he wished he knew how to cry.


End file.
